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Read Ebook: Nick Carter Stories No. 131 March 13 1915: A fatal message; or Nick Carter's slender clew by Carter Nicholas House Name Phillips Roland Ashford
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Ebook has 764 lines and 39707 words, and 16 pages
A FATAL MESSAGE; Or, NICK CARTER'S SLENDER CLEW.
Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.
Nick Carter leaned nearer to the wall and listened to what the two men were discussing.
The wall was that of a booth in the caf? of the Shelby House. It was a partition of matched sheathing only, through which ordinary conversation in the adjoining booth could be easily overheard, and both men in this case spoke above an ordinary tone.
Obviously, therefore, they were discussing nothing of a private nature, or anything thought to be of much importance, or serious significance. It meant no more to them, in fact, than it would have meant to most men, to all save one in a million.
That one in a million was seated alone in the next booth--Nick Carter.
The two men were strangers to the detective. They had entered when he was near the end of his lunch, and while waiting for their orders to be served they engaged in the conversation which, though heard only by chance, soon seriously impressed the detective.
"You were a little later than usual this noon, Belden," said one.
"Yes, a few minutes, Joe, but I thought you would wait for me. My ticker got busy just as I was about to leave. I remained to take the dispatch, Gordon, and it proved to be quite a long one."
"Something important?"
"Not very. Only political news for the local paper."
"Belden evidently is a telegraph operator," thought Nick.
"Anything warm by wire this morning?" questioned Gordon.
"No, nothing," said Belden; and then he abruptly added: "There was a singular message, however, and an unusual circumstance in connection with it."
"How so, Arthur?"
"The dispatch was addressed to John Dalton, and we were instructed to hold it till called for," Belden explained. "I looked in the local directory, but it contained no John Dalton. I inferred that he was a traveling man, or a visitor in town, whose address was not known by the sender."
"Naturally."
"Strange to say, however, he showed up in about five minutes and asked if we had a dispatch for him."
"Why, is there anything strange in that? He evidently was expecting it."
"It was strange that he came in so quickly, almost while I was receiving the message. That, too, was singular."
"The message?"
"Yes."
"Why so?"
"As I remember it, Joe, it read: 'Dust flying. S. D. on way. Ware eagle,'" said Belden. "It was signed with only a single name--'Martin.'"
It was then that Nick Carter pricked up his ears and leaned nearer to the wall to hear what the two men were saying.
"I thought so."
"Dust flying, eh?" Gordon laughed. "The dispatch must have come from a windy city."
"It came from Philadelphia."
"I'm wrong, then. Not even dust flies in Philadelphia. Did Dalton send an answer?"
"Not that I know of; certainly not from our office."
"Or volunteer any explanation?"
"No. It probably was a code message, or had some secret significance. He took the dispatch and departed."
"A stranger to you, eh?"
"Total stranger. I don't imagine the message amounted to anything. It appeared a bit odd, however, and--ah, here's our grub," Belden broke off abruptly. "The Martini is mine, waiter. Here's luck, Joe."
It was obvious to Nick that the discussion of the telegram was ended. He immediately arose and departed. He sauntered into the hotel office, then out through the adjoining corridor, which just then was deserted, of which he took advantage. He quickly adjusted a simple disguise with which he was provided, and he then passed out of a side door leading to the street. Nick was watching the caf? when the two men emerged. He followed them until Gordon parted from his companion and entered a large hardware store, where he evidently was employed.
Arthur Belden walked on leisurely alone, and Nick judged that he was heading for the main office of the Western Union Company, whose sign projected from a building some fifty yards away. The detective walked more rapidly, and quickly overtook him.
"How are you, Belden?" said he, slipping his hand through the young man's arm. "Don't appear surprised. Pretend that you know me. I have something to say to you."
Belden was quick-witted, and he immediately nodded and smiled.
"I will explain presently," Nick continued. "We'll wait until we are under cover. It's barely possible that we are observed. You work in the telegraph office, don't you?"
"Yes. I'm assistant manager."
"Got a private office?"
"Yes. I receive and send most of the important dispatches."
"Good enough. I'm going with you to your office. Carry yourself as if it was nothing unusual. Fine day overhead, isn't it?"
"Yes, great," laughed Belden, gazing up. "This way. We'll cross here."
Nick accompanied him across the street into the building. Not until they were seated in his private office, however, did the detective refer to the matter actuating him.
"I was in the adjoining booth while you and your friend Gordon were discussing a telegram received here this morning," Nick then explained. "I wish to talk with you about it."
"For what reason?" questioned Belden, more sharply regarding him. "Have you any authority in the matter?"
"Yes."
"How so? Who are you?"
Nick saw plainly that the young man was trustworthy. He smiled agreeably, yet said, quite impressively:
"This is strictly between us, Belden, so be sure that you don't betray my confidence under any circumstances. I am in Shelby on very important business. Any indiscretion on your part might prove very costly. You read your local newspaper and must know me by name, at least. I am the New York detective, Nick Carter."
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